(keeping her)eyes wide shut
by nericearren
Summary: as long as she pretended that she didn't care, then the world wouldn't have to fall down; but pretending was getting tiresome and really, it was a flawed tactic at best when he kept showing up in her office looking like he needed someone to care more than any other student had a right to. (elfever au where evergreen is a nurse and elfman is a hopeless punk)
1. Chapter 1

Ever's just sitting at the bar, trying to get drunk or something like that. Minding her own business.

Mirajane says it causally, while wiping fingerprints off of the beer tap, all soft and sweet with no hint of malice, "He's too good for you."

And even though it's been a good two hours since anyone in the bar has said anything beyond _another round_ and it's probably been six or seven weeks since the bartender said anything at all to Ever, she knows what the other woman means at once.

She downs the last dregs of her martini.

"I know."

/

"And I hope to continue to see all of your fresh and happy faces around the school this year," the principal concludes, and Ever smothers a yawn and thinks longing of her post-first-day-of-school drinking binge. Just-she checks her watch idly, not bothering to conceal the action-seven and a half hours, plus travel time and maybe a few minutes to stop at home and doll up a bit.

The faculty begin to file out of their assigned row and, sitting in the last chair, Ever hustles to her feet, heels clacking across the gymnasium floor as she trails after the Algebra II teacher, a man so old that he may be growing actual mold behind his ears. He has a thing for nurses; she remembers him from last year.

Just then, the door to the gym bangs open, and the teachers stop their disheartened procession out. The students, who haven't been dismissed yet, gape from their seats at the newcomer.

It's a boy, probably; he's wearing a school uniform at any rate but he's taller and broader and, well, _man_ -er than any boy she's ever seen. The hands holding the double doors open are about the size of her head, the knuckles of his left fist a bloody, wrecked mess. A long scar runs down one side of his face, and for a moment, while the whole gymnasium stares openly at him, his eyes are very, very scary.

Then he grins, and it makes his face about ten years younger despite his size, and says, "Am I late?"

/

It's about a week before he comes into her office, and by then he's already built up a reputation. Ever doesn't listen to rumors, of course, but they're hard to ignore when she sees half the school for one ailment or another over the run of the day and all of those high school girls never do anything but _talk_ , and God, she wasn't like that when she was their age, was she?

He knocks while she's downing her fifth aspirin of the day, frantically battling the hangover that keeps coming back to nip at her like a yorkie pup at the most inconvenient time, and she snarls, "Come in," because she thinks that it's _yet another_ dodgeball casualty and she's seriously sick of those, but it isn't, it's a mountain coming to visit with a bloody nose.

"Teach'r wouldn't let me in the room until I cleaned up," he explains, looking as though he's embarrassed and annoyed all at once and generally not willing to be there and since there's no one that Ever likes having more in her office than a student who doesn't _want_ to be in her office(because then they leave faster), he instantly becomes her favorite patient in the history of ever(Ever?).

She runs a rag under the tap in the sink and squeezes the excess water out before tossing it to him carelessly. She isn't here to play babysitter. She isn't even really here to play nurse.

He catches the cloth easily and starts to mop up his face, wincing as he accidentally probes sensitive spots with his huge, clumsy fingers. Ever examines him from a distance, trying to determine if his nose is broken or not. She decides not-less paperwork that way-and shepherds him out of the office.

"I didn't _want_ to come," he objects, as if she accused him of otherwise.

"Well, I don't want you here, so we should get along just fine," she says, and then he looks at her funny and she looks funny right back and it strikes her that she might like him for real, so she shoves him out and tells him to not come back.

He doesn't listen, or else doesn't have a choice, because another teacher sends him to her office later that afternoon and Ever wonders if he's having an especially bad day or if it's normal for him to _fall down the stairs_ and _run into doors_ once an hour.

He doesn't flinch as she pulls the thread tight on the stitches closing up the gaping slash on his forearm. He's tough like that, or at least doesn't want to look bad in front of her. She somehow doubts that the latter is the case. "I didn't know school nurses could do stitches."

"I didn't know you were as stupid as you look," Ever snaps back, and then, because he gives her a look like a wounded puppy and it inspires actual guilt in her which hasn't happened since Hell last froze over, that is, _never_ , she adds in grudging explanation, "I was trained as an EMT, a long time ago. I still have the certification, and since this is practically a school of gangsters . . . it comes in handy."

"Why didn't you stay an EMT?" he asks her.

She pinches his arm and commands him to _get out before I add another scar to your face_.

/

She meets up with Freed and Laxus at the bar after school lets out, and they get plastered in the middle of the day.

"You should come back," Laxus slurs.

Freed splutters out a weird laugh-he's always been shit at holding his liquor-and shoves his half-full glass across the way for Ever to finish. "Which is what you always say when we lose someone." He slides his gaze over to her, head swaying. "Little girl, DOA," he goes, and passes out, head slamming onto the sticky bar.

"You werrrrr the best," Laxus goes on, and the barmaid-a blond that Laxus has had his eye on since they were all rookies and since it's been five years, it's fairly safe to say that he has no chance in hell with-says, "That's it, Dreyar-I'm cutting you off."

"The best!" Laus bellows. "Mira, another round for th' best medic ever, Ever!" He dissolves into laughter. "Ever, Ever . . ." he cackles. "That's a good one." Mira scowls, unimpressed.

"You're all drunk," Ever mumbles. "Besides, I love my-my studeeents . . ." She cradles her head in one hand. "I dont'wanna leave."

She does love her students. She loves them so fucking much . . .

/

"Ma'am? Ma'am?"

"She's out cold."

"Yes, I can _see_ that, Elfman." There are voices in Ever's dreams-voices, disturbing her happy hour. Wait. Is she dreaming? Or is she drinking?

Maybe she's drinking in her dream. Ever snickers. That sounds like her.

"She's not coming around. Someone should take her home."

"Her friends are shit-faced, too."

" _Language_ , Elfman. And yes, we'll call a cab-this one looks like he has alcohol poisoning."

"You could let them sleep on our couch."

"Or I could let my baby brother take them home."

/

She's moving. Whoa, _okay_ , she's moving. Her stomach roils, and she bends over. She's pretty sure that she's throwing up-it hurts, and her throat burns, and she fleetingly thinks that this is extremely unbecoming behavior for a teacher, even a teacher who's just a nurse and is really shitty at her job and hasn't been fired for the sole reason that no one else would ever be crazy enough to take her place.

There's a wall at her back, and she leans against it, gratefully sinking her aching head on the warm . . . fabric?

Ah, well. Walls can wear clothes if they want, right?

The wall lifts her up, but she's too tired and sick and-hey, there are puppies. She's dreaming of puppies, or something.

She should get a puppy. So that she doesn't have to live alone anymore. Puppies are a hell of a lot easier to take care of then boyfriends.

The wall rumbles with laughter.

Oh. She's talking, isn't she? That muffled sound in her eardrums is her own voice.

She's pretty sure that she's seasick.

/

Ever goes to school the next morning with sunglasses and a spotty memory, totally clueless as to how she got home the previous night. It's not her best look.

"Mornin', teach," a mountain greets her as she steps through the double doors.

"It's six-thirty," she says, too hungover to manage a tolerably intolerable level of bitchiness. "Why the hell are you here at six-thirty in the godforsaken morning?"

He hands her a flask. "My sister sent this for you. Hair of the dog that bit'cha."

She slides off her sunglasses, confused. "Your sister?"

"Mira. The bartender?" he prompts. Ever stifles a groan. Of _course_ the new student just _happens_ to be the younger brother of her favorite bartender. Of _course_. She's going to have to stop frequenting the Fairy, now, and that is just going to . . . ugh. So much trouble. Laxus won't quit whining about it for months, and if Laxus isn't happy, ain't nobody happy, Ever included.

Not that she's usually happy. But.

She takes the flask anyways and says grudgingly, "Thanks."

He beams. "I gotta ton of 'em, back in my locker, if you run out."

Ever massages her temples, tucking the flask under her arm and quickly moving past him. "I'll pretend that I didn't hear that."

/

Second period. Ever no longer feels like she's a ground-up piece of horsemeat; but her stomach _is_ rumbling something awful and there's still an hour left until lunch.

She hates moving through the halls between classes-there are too many students, ripe with hormones and bad hair and terrible fashion choices. She has to push through the crush of them, pretending that she doesn't notice the eyes on her rear end(most conveniently stuck out due to her towering high heels)or cleavage, the latter of which she does her best to hide with the stack of permission slip forms she has to deliver to the principal before eleven a.m. . . . which is six minutes from now.

She shoves past a particularly brawny football player in time to see that student, the new and big one, slam a kid half his size into a row of lockers.

"You say I'm not manly?" the Incredible Hulk bellows, and Ever feels the abrupt return of her headache. This is great, just great. She has to _stop_ them now, since she saw them fighting and the rest of the kids saw her seeing them fight, and it's expected that she'll stop them. If she doesn't, who knows what will happen. Mayhem, probably, and it will come out of her paycheck, which means less hairdresser money, so.

Ever elbows her way around the students who are gathered to watch the fight. The smaller guy is writhing, kicking the giant in the stomach; Ever recognizes him. Grant or Gray or something-he's been in the principal's office for indecent exposure like, ten times since the beginning of school. Kid's got a problem.

But, hey. They _all_ got problems, here; this is the school where the bad kids go.

"Break it up," Ever orders, trying to sound authoritative. "Cease and desist. Drop your hostage. Whatever." She lays a hand on the mountain's shoulder, attempting to not be awed at how far up she has to reach to do so. Ever's always thought herself fairly tall, and that's _before_ the heels; this guy has to be nearly seven feet, if not over.

Getting him to drop Gray is not unlike soothing a rampaging elephant, and Ever can't help but feel overly self-conscious as she coaxes him out of pounding the other student's face into the lockers. There are people _watching_ , and there's nothing weird going on, but her eyes keep fixating on her hand, on the muscles rippling under it and the green nail polish and what might happen if she digs their pointed tips into-

Whoa, girl. Get a lid on those hormones.

Ever retracts her hand. "Both of you, in my office," she orders. "I'll be along when I finish my errand-and if I come back to find even one bottle of antiseptic out of place . . ." She glares at them threateningly, and they scuttle away.

/

"I don't get it," he whines, fidgeting in his chair like a much smaller, much younger boy. "Fullbuster gets to spend detention outside . . . why do I have to be cooped up with you?"

"Keep talking like that," Ever says dryly, "and I'll up your time to three weeks, instead of two."

He falls silent immediately.

Ever hands him a box of papers. "Do you know what these are?"

He takes a few, looks. Shakes his head.

"Health forms. Parents or legal guardians are required to pass them in before the start of each academic year, so I know who's got what deadly disease. By the time I'm done making out the chicken scratch and bad spelling of each and every one of these four hundred or so forms, I'm sick of them. So, I throw them in this box and forget about them until Little Johnny comes in with a cold and I need to know if his mommy gave permission for me to give him a box of _tissues_ , let alone a dose DayQuil." Ever pulls another box out from under her desk, stacking it on top of the previous one. "It's hell, trying to find one form in this particular haystack, so I'm going to have you alphabetize them for me and put them in that filing cabinet." She points.

He scratches his head, and she props her hands on her hips. "What? You can't do it?"

"I'm only here for an hour," he reminds her.

Ever sighs. "That's why you're coming _back_ , numbnuts. This is weekly detention, or have you forgotten?"

"That's only twice."

"Then I guess you'd better get started."

Ever sits behind her desk, pulling out the top drawer and beginning to organize the contents. The first few weeks are always hell on her system, as she tries to remember how she did things the previous year; she swears that nothing is just as she left it.

"So," she starts idly, after a few minutes of work have passed. "You live with your sister."

"Yeah." He doesn't look up from his sorting.

"Above a bar."

"Uh-huh." His hair is so blond, it's nearly white. She wonders if he has Nordic blood. That would probably be in his file, if she could find it. But she's having a hard enough time finding her glasses, let alone one folder in a box of four hundred and three. Besides, she's not that interested.

Really.

"And your parents?" she prompts. "Where are they?"

He looks up at her, a scowl dancing across his face and, God, his eyes are scary. This is apparently not the right question to be asking. "Dead."

Oops. Ever quickly moves on to the next question in her mental checklist; the way she goes through them is perfunctory, rote. She's had this conversation with nearly every student who passes through her office, and absolutely with everyone she's spent time with in detention. Ever might be a budding alcoholic with some serious baggage in the Past department, but she's still a medical professional. She knows how to do her job, even if she does cut the corners a little bit . . . well, a lot.

"How's your family life?"

He shrugs. "Normal."

"Normal how?" She surreptitiously takes a pen out of her drawer and begins to scratch notes on a pocket-sized pad. She's no psychiatrist, but she's found that the observations she records often come in useful later-such as in court, if it ever comes to that.

"Y'know . . . normal. Mira doesn't hit me or anythin'. I know that's what you're asking." He dumps the first stack of folders into the filing cabinet under "A". He half smiles, gesturing to his own body. "I mean, I am twice her size."

"Mm." Ever notes that he recognized what she was getting at; but it's not that abnormal. She's not the best at being subtle, for one thing. "And how about school? Are you having trouble keeping up in any of your subjects?"

Another shrug. "Math sucks. The teach is nice, though-he's been helpin' me."

"What about friends?" She's starting to feel like she's interrogating him. Maybe because she _is_ interrogating him, funny that.

He shoots her a dour look. "Real men don't need friends."

Ever has to stifle a sudden, incredulous laugh. "Honey, you're in high school. You aren't a man," she tells him. "You aren't even a _young_ man, yet, you're a teenager and-" And she really needs to shut up because not good is going to come from moving into _this_ territory, so; moving on. "Have you been sleeping well?"

"I'm fine," he says, not snappishly, but curtly enough that she gets the idea; this is him angry, at least angry at a teacher-angry at a student seems to equal physical violence but somehow she gets the feeling he wouldn't raise a hand to her, which is irrational because she doesn't know anything about him( _yet_ )and he could be coming off a term in juvie for any number of things, that's the kind of school this is, but surely not murder because then he would be in jail. Probably.

"There's nothing wrong with me," he goes on, while her internal monologue rattles to a hasty stop.

"You were fighting in the hall," she retorts. "That's not something you do when you're fine."

His head is down, focusing on the task in front of him, but she could swear that she sees the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile. "It is for me."


	2. Chapter 2

/

"So, why don't you?" Freed asks her.

Ever sets her coffee mug down on his parqueted end table and remembers, abruptly, why she rarely meets up with her old friends when they're sober. "Why don't I what?" she asks. "Return to being a paramedic or bang my latest trouble student?"

"If you return to being a paramedic," Bicks points out, "you can bang that student and it won't be illegal."

"Technically, it isn't illegal now," Laxus helpfully puts in. "Just . . . frowned on."

"And you'd get fired," Bicks adds. "So, then you could go back to being a paramedic. Same conclusion either way."

"Or I could do neither of those things, and keep my life the way it is," Ever tells them. "You know, I like my life the way it is."

All three of her old team mates burst out in simultaneous peals of laughter.

"I have never heard a bigger load of shit in my life," Bicks cackles.

Ever resolves to never talk to them outside of a bar again.

/

It's not like she hasn't thought about it.

It's an idle thought, an innocent one. She'd never actually _act_ on the impulse; but she really hasn't dated in so long, and one can fantasize if one wants. He's annoying, sure, but charming when he doesn't mean to be and often times Mira makes him walk Ever home and it's sweet. It almost makes her want to take him in.

"My sister's going into high school next year," he tells her one night. "My baby sister, I mean."

"There are more of you?" she asks, unable to believe that she missed this detail. She still hasn't gotten around to those stupid files; over half of them remain unorganized, so that students with last names from M to Z will have to wait an inordinately long time for medical care while she shuffles through two-hundred or so identical forms.

"Just me and my sisters."

They reach her door, Ever carrying a new piece of him with her. Maybe this means that they're friends?

She unlocks her door and looks back over her shoulder. "Thanks for walking me," she says, and he nods like, Yes, Well, It's A Man's Duty, and she kind of understands now that he _is_ a man. He had to become one for his sisters.

It's a nice thought. It gives her the bravery-maybe the stupidity-to jerk her head, a little awkwardly, towards the inside of her apartment. She can't voice the words, but it's an obvious invitation.

He smiles at her. It's almost condescending, the way he slowly shakes his head, blue eyes focused solely on her, making sure she knows that he's aware of the gravity between them in this second. His mouth quirks up a little more on one side, turning the smile into a smirk, and his head shake flows to the rest of his body as he turns in a fluid motion. Someone so big should not move so gracefully.

"Good night, Ms. Green."

/

" _Another_ one?"

Ever is beginning to think that he's getting injured on purpose-and when did he have the time to get into trouble? The bell hasn't rung for the day and only a handful of students have trickled into the building so far.

She closes the door behind him and gestures for him to sit on the plastic-covered doctor's table that's really only there because it's the closest thing to a couch she could convince the principal to get her. He thinks it looks professional. She thinks a couch would be better for dizzy students and napping teachers.

But now she's rather glad for the table, because it means that he isn't bleeding all over some nice couch, he's bleeding on a sheet of plastic that can be replaced in a heartbeat.

"Where are you hurt?" she demands, and he strips off his school blazer at once, discarding the black coat on the floor. The white shirt underneath has a blossoming red spot just under his rib cage; he peels the shirt off, too, large fingers fumbling with the tiny buttons.

"Dumb fucks had a knife," he mumbles. "I might need stitches."

" _Who_ had a knife?" Ever asks, taking out her first aid kit and helping him slip out of the shirt. To her dismay, he's wearing a wife beater underneath _that_ ; they're never going to get to the wound at this rate. "Was it a student? Were they on school grounds?"

He shakes his head. "Um, at the bar. I . . . Ms. Green, listen. I don't wanna tell you, but if I do tell you, then you can't say anythin' to anyone and I know you're gonna want to so . . . don't make me tell you."

"I think, from the sound of it, you'd better," Ever says grimly, scowling at his roundabout explanation. Is it too much to ask for a straight answer?

She finally gets the wife beater off, revealing a whole lot of muscled, tanned chest and, oh yeah, what she's actually here for, a two-and-a-half-inch wide cut just below his last rib. Ever breathes a sigh of relief, the images of fatal stab wounds fading from her mind. This is just a nick, hell, _barely_ a nick, she could do worse damage with a cheese grater, it's just bleeding a lot because the knife hit flesh instead of bone and it's kind of scary how relieved she is.

"I work as a bouncer at Mira's bar," he says, all in a rush. "I know I shouldn't, 'cause I'm under twenty-one and all, but she can't afford the help and-"

"Stop," Ever sighs. Dear God, she thought he was about to confess to being in a gang or something. In comparison, giving his sister a hand at the bar is small potatoes, kind of noble, really. Not the type of thing she has to tell the principal about. "That's fine. I-honestly, I shouldn't be going to that bar, so we'd both be in trouble if this got out."

"Really? So we're, like, partners in crime?" he asks, eyes lighting up with the idea. He grins, not at all fazed by the dour look she shoots him.

"More like idiots who need common sense," she grumbles, and she patches him up okay and offers to wash his shirt. He refuses.

"You can't wear it like that," she objects.

"I'll just put my jacket on, no one'll know."

Crisis over, she puts her kit away and goes to open the door. It's two and a bit minutes before the bell.

So she locks the door instead.

"Your name's Elfman, right?"

He looks surprised that she remembers, probably given that the only time she heard it was once while she was drunk and rambling about puppies. "Yeah, Ms. Green. It is."

"You can call me Ever . . . for the next minute and forty seconds."

Except, she doesn't give him a chance. She closes the distance between them in a flash, hands pressing to his shoulders, knee on his thigh, and lips-

Yeah. It's been a long time.

/

He-Elfman-basically avoids her office like the plague for the next week, and Ever does not blame him. Fact time: she threw herself on him like a slut and now he's freaked out, understandably so. Ever herself has no idea why she did what she did, only that she did it and now the geeks that she drinks with are all laughing at her. Well, it isn't as though it's the first time she's been rejected, though truthfully she is rarely rejected so it does sting her pride some, and she does her best to not let it get her down. The vodka shots help.

Laxus tries to pick up Mira. All of his witty lines fall flat.

Freed has a new boyfriend; they don't expect him to last long. He refuses to follow the directions when he's putting together furniture; a sure sign of trouble in the future.

Bicks wants to move on, go back to being an RN in a surgical hospital. His parents want him to give up on that "smarty-ass career" and come back home, take over the family business, but he isn't having any of it.

Ever listens to all of their troubles, whether over the phone or in person, and she helps Gray work on not flashing the girls coming out of the restroom, and she sees Lucy Heartfillia every day for counseling though the only problem the girl seems to have is an abundance of idiotic friends and she's pretty sure that quiet girl in class 2A is in an abusive relationship with that biker because the both of them keep showing up with bruises . . . There's so much to keep track of, it's easy enough to forget about Elfman, at least until she shuts the door to her apartment and-

Oh.

"You keep a spare key in your desk. I swiped it," Elfman says without guilt. It should bother her, the lack-of-guilt thing, because that's one of the signs that she's supposed to look for in possibly psycopathic students but that's bull because she's dealing with high schoolers. Seventy-five percent of them don't have a conscience to their name but that doesn't make them all dangerous, just major assholes.

"Why are you here?" Has her voice always been this high? "I'll call the police."

He looks at her impassively, calling her bluff.

"You shouldn't be-"

"See, the thing is," he interrupts her, obviously ignoring whatever she's saying. "You kinda came on to me. And I wasn't really sure that was what you were doin' at first, but then it dawned on me this morning."

This _morning_? It's been a full week. Clearly, Ever is dealing with an idiot.

"And then I had to decide what to do. Because I don't want you gettin' hurt or losing your job . . ." he goes on, and he's actually being honest, like he actually means that he really doesn't want her to be troubled, and it's the strangest damn thing. Most boys would just be itching to screw her right now, and if she's honest, that's all she was really looking for. Geez. He has to go and make it all serious.

"But I really, really wanted to . . . um . . ." He's talked himself into a corner. His face turns red. "Uh . . ."

It's cute.

Ever kicks off her heels, unzipping her skirt as she crosses the front room. "You should shut up."

He does.

/

When you are in an illicit relationship, Ever discovers, it's harder than usual to make it through the day without sneaking a sip from the little flask that sits in the bottom drawer of your desk, just begging to be sipped from.

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," she hisses, leaning forwards across the desk in a pointless attempt at keeping their argument a secret from the curious eyes venturing by her door.

"It could happen," Elfman insists. "Mira gets really-"

"She isn't going to just walk into my apartment to see us doing it!" Ever practically screams, but screams in a whisper, because school is in session. "And short of that, there's no way that she'd find out!"

The guy is so terrified of his older sister, it's funny. And sad. And, honestly, pathetic as hell.

"She has a sense about these things," Elfman insists. "I know that she's suspicious."

"Then get a damn girlfriend," Ever proposes crankily. "Throw her off your scent."

The horrified look on his face answers _that_ question. Ever banishes him from her office, reminding him not to come back unless there was a "real emergency"; regardless of what he claims, no one is suspicious right now, but they will be if he keeps dropping in every hour to ask her, "Are you still sore?" and "I didn't . . . um, _rip_ anything, did I?" and other stupid questions like that.

After another week, it sinks into his fat head that they should be using protection, and he almost blows everything by barging in when she's with another student to demand, "ARE YOU PREGNANT?!" in a VERY LOUD voice that carries down the hall and leads to an uncomfortable meeting with the principal. Ever has to explain to Elfman what the birth control pill is, and when he declares, appalled, that neither of his sisters would ever take something like that, she also has to explain to him about Mira's long string of nightly visitors, which she only knows about because when it's slow, the barmaid will sit down and have a few with their group in order to shut Laxus up.

Then there are the awkward, morning-after conversations and clumsy exchanges that actually occur around twelve-thirty a.m., when he showers and redresses to dash off to do his bouncer thing for Mira until the bar closes at six. Ever tries to give him breakfast, and he tries to kiss her goodbye, and neither of them succeed in their ventures. She isn't doing so well, with so little sleep and even less alcohol. She's only going out twice a week, now; her buddies say they miss her and she can't look Mira in the eye.

All in all, it's not the kind of situation she wants to face while sober.

/

It isn't Mira who catches them out in the end, at any rate. It's just some random student who needs a Band-Aid at the wrong time, and he sure gets the show of his life before running off to the principal and the next thing Ever knows, she's fired and sitting alone at a bar and Mira keeps shooting her those sad, disapproving looks.

/

"You never told me," Elfman begins, tracing his finger along the curve of her back, "about your Past." He says it with a capital, and it pleases her that he knows it should be said with a capital, because some things are just important like that, and while she wants to give him the same kind of pat answer she would give anyone who wasn't Bicks, Laxus, or Freed, she sighs and gives in because he's been living with her for seven months now and it's kind of a big deal that he doesn't know.

"Well, I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life," Ever says. "But when it got down to the reality of actually _doing_ it, I just . . . couldn't. I started drinking to handle it and so I was fired." She doesn't embellish-doesn't recount the god-awful months when she wasn't sure if she'd manage to pay her bills, the days when Laxus would look at her as though she was an idiot because she'd gone too far, pushed to hard. She doesn't mention that she lost three good people because she wasn't sober enough to do her job.

But she says, "I've gotten better since I met you," and he beams and it's okay. Sure, she's been fired in disgrace twice in less than three years, and sure, she's not making any friends with her zero-bullshit attitude and none of the places she's applied to have called back and her in-the-meantime work at Mira's bar is turning into a permanent thing because who doesn't get hurt at a bar? It's so much easier to have a CN right there then to have to call an ambulance.

Elfman, with his adolescent smiles and protective nature and all of the little, noble things he does every day to help his family, really is too good for her.

But she's so very glad that she met him.


End file.
